


Tell Me

by EvasiveWarrior (Emilightning)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self Harm, am I projecting on virgil? it's more likely than you'd think, could be read as platonic but eh I wrote it as prinxiety, this is some venty shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 13:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19210051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilightning/pseuds/EvasiveWarrior
Summary: Even after all that self-discovery, Virgil still finds himself keeping the most painful things close to the chest.Roman walks in on him at one of those painful moments.





	Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about this. TW for self-harm; blood.

There was no reason to tell them. 

That's what Virgil repeated to himself over and over, like a mantra, as he held the razor blade in his shaking hand. He watched as the three impossibly thin, straight lines he'd already drawn across his forearm began to spill over with tiny rivers of blood. 

A grim, emotionless smile stretched across his face, and he knew it probably looked grotesque. He didn't care. He just kept his eyes focused on a deep red dot that slipped over his arm and fell silently onto the floor. It was almost fascinating to watch.

That was the closest he could come to feeling anything when he cut. 

He knew it was crazy, absurd, preposterous-- Logan would probably be able to come up with a dozen more synonyms to describe it: the act of slicing into one's own skin just to feel like the world made sense. But no matter how disconnected from reality the idea seemed, it simply was what it was. There were just these moments when Virgil seemed to... disappear. He wouldn't be able to laugh, or cry, or even pretend to understand anything except the dark self-hatred that crawled under his skin. 

Why? Why did he still get this way, even now? Things were supposed to be better. They _were_ better, really, at least most of the time. He was a Side, a true Side, part of the family that he'd watched from afar with feigned apathy for so long. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he let go of this habit-- if that's what it could be called; _punishment_ was probably more accurate. Or _ritual_.

Part of him was desperate to tell his friends. But that part was easily shut down by an even louder part: the part that screamed that there was _no need_ to tell them. No need to burden them with this _thing_. No matter what they thought of him, even if they did consider him one of them now, they wouldn't understand this. 

Besides, he thought, if nobody else knew about it, if only he had to carry it, then that was something he could protect them from. Hurt so no one else had to. 

Right?

Virgil continued to skim the surface of his arms with the tiny blade, barely even registering anymore as each new cut was made. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of faded lines, crossing each other in a pattern that faintly impressed him in a way. It was almost a testament to how long he'd lasted against himself, he thought.

Then he gritted his teeth and pressed down harder, irritated at how pathetic he sounded in his own mind. 

Time passed. He didn't know how much time; it could have been ten minutes or three hours for all the difference it made. Everything was numb. Eventually, he set down the razor and leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh. His head was spinning a little. 

He didn't try to clean up any of the blood, not right away. He never bothered panicking about it; it wasn't as if he could die from blood loss. At least, he was pretty sure he couldn't. It hadn't really been something he'd considered for too long. Maybe there was a way to find out...

Virgil kept his eyes closed, trying to even out his breathing as he waited for the faint pounding in his head to subside. 

And then he snapped open his eyes as he realized he was no longer alone in his room. He yanked the sleeves of his hoodie down frantically, covering the still-bleeding cuts in the nick of time.

"Shit! What do you want?" he snapped, surprised at how harsh he sounded. 

Roman took a step back, caught off guard by Virgil's uncharacteristically aggressive tone. "What's _your_ problem, Edgelord of the Rings?" 

Virgil had to bite back a hiss at the nickname. They didn't bother him as much as they once had (he'd even dare to say he enjoyed a couple of them every now and then), but 'edgelord' didn't sit too kindly with him right now. "None of your business. Get the hell out of here." 

There was a beat of silence.

The prince's eyes widened for a moment, stricken with hurt and confusion. "I was just--" 

Virgil's heart raced in panic. Every nerve in his body was screaming to get Roman away from him, to be left alone at any cost, to isolate himself right _now,_ before things got any worse.

"Go! Get the fuck out of my room." His voice grew high and strained, which should have been a dead giveaway that the outburst was one of fear and not anger.

Unfortunately, Roman didn't seem to catch that. Or he was too heated to care. 

"God, fine. Sorry to _disturb_ you in the middle of your brooding." The words had taken on a nasty edge, which was rare for the usually fanciful, flowery prince. 

Virgil hadn't heard that biting tone directed at him in a long time. It took all of his strength to keep a neutral face. He stood up, keeping his raw and bleeding arms folded close to his chest.

"Whatever, _Princey_ ," he managed to spit out. "Can't stand to face that you're not always welcome around here? Not as charming as you'd like to believe?" 

The cruel words were spilling out of his mouth with no filter. He was dimly aware of the double-voice creeping in-- the sinister echo that meant he was going over the edge. But he couldn't control it. His face felt hot and flushed; the outer edges of his vision were starting to blur together. 

Roman could feel it too; he didn't know if the sudden flash of untempered anger he felt was his own or Virgil's. Or perhaps it was the two colliding.

Whatever it was, it caused him to snap, the words flying out before he could think: "Fine, I'm leaving. Be a freak, see if I care. Rot in here." 

The next few moments barely processed in either of their minds. Virgil had lunged towards Roman as he turned to sink out of the room, catching him by the sleeve in a blind rage and nearly tearing the white fabric. His other hand was clenched into a fist so tight, it trembled uncontrollably. 

The prince shouted indignantly, slapping Virgil's hand away. And then just as quickly, he snatched it back, looking at it more closely. 

Virgil struggled weakly, but Roman's grip was tight. And there was no point anyway. Before he could open his mouth, before either of them could raise a hand to the other, the fight was over as soon as it had begun. 

Roman stared at the pale, tense hands that were locked in his grasp as he held Virgil's wrists. He slowly turned them over until the palms faced up, and then he could clearly see what he'd glimpsed before.

They were covered in blood. Some of it was already dry; some was still slick and had stained Roman's shirt. But he couldn't care less about that now.

"Virgil?"

Just that one word-- just hearing Roman say his name in such a tender, confused, frightened way-- it was enough to break Virgil. Everything melted away, leaving a deep ache that left him with no choice but to crumble to the floor in a heap, suddenly unable to breathe.

All he could hear was the sound of Roman's voice, more gentle than he'd ever thought it could be. "I know. It's all right. It's okay."

He didn't sound surprised.

There was nothing for a moment as Virgil continued to choke out erratic, panicked breaths. Everything was broken. He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed until it hurt, desperately trying to keep himself together. Otherwise, he knew he'd shatter into a thousand pieces right then and there. 

Eventually he felt another pair of arms around him, warmer and sturdier, holding him tightly. 

"I'm sorry," Roman murmured over and over. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm so sorry."

They stayed that way until Virgil fell limp, overcome with exhaustion. 

****************************************************

He woke up with a jolt. There was a dull ache in his body, a slight cold sweat on his face, and a thick layer of bandages wrapped around his wrists. He started to sit up and realized that his head had been resting in Roman's lap. 

"Uh--" It took Virgil a second to process his position, but once he'd made eye contact with Roman and saw the soft, sad smile on his face, he decided to forego any protest or explanation, and simply lay himself back down.

"Hey." The prince's voice lacked its usual flamboyance; he was quiet and unsure of himself. When was the last time he'd let anyone see him this way? It didn't matter, he just wanted Virgil to be okay.

The anxious side forced a half-smile; it took more effort than it should have. "Hey." They were quiet for a second. He knew Roman was probably bursting with questions and concerns, and it exhausted him just thinking about it. But he supposed it couldn't be avoided. "Listen, I'm sorry you had to see that."

"No!" The outburst was unexpected. Virgil listened while Roman poured out his thoughts with barely any prompting: "Don't. Please. Virge-- _I'm_ the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have just burst in on you like that. I didn't think about... well, anything. I never _think_. I never even considered..." 

His voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. Virgil watched with amazement as tears started to run down Roman's face. He suddenly felt even more terrible than before. "It's not your fault," he whispered. If he wasn't careful, he knew he'd probably start crying, too.

Then without warning, Roman grabbed his hand. This time it was a gesture of warmth, of needing to understand the pain that had driven him to do this. Looking into his eyes, Virgil could see that he wanted to help him. 

And maybe he _was_ beyond helping. That's what he'd always believed, anyway. There was so much that would support that idea; so many reasons he could think of to just give up entirely. The way he used to imagine doing.

The way he'd come so close to doing that one day, the day the other sides had first entered his room. When he'd had to play it off as no big deal. He could remember it vividly-- he would have said anything to get them out of there, too. There was nothing they could have told him to change his mind, except--

Except he hadn't expected Roman to care then either. Sure, he'd known the prince would show up with the other sides. That was the way it always went; the three of them (and Thomas, of course) were the fundamental parts of all the Sanders Sides videos. Wherever they went, they went together. So of _course_ that would include places that none of them wanted to go.

He'd always felt that Roman resented having to bring him back. Even now, lying here with him clutching his hand like their lives depended on it, Virgil couldn't shake the feeling that deep down, the creative side still wanted him gone. 

But maybe... 

Maybe he meant it.

"Roman?" His name left his mouth before he could stop it.

The prince looked back at him as if he were the only person in the world, as if whatever question he had was worth answering. "Yes?" 

How was he supposed to ask this? "I... well... you know you don't need to help me, right? Nobody's around. I wouldn't blame you if you just pretended you didn't see anything. Nothing would change," he rushed to finish, not daring to look at Roman's face. "So how come you're treating me like this?"

"I- Virgil..." 

Roman was at a complete loss for words, and Virgil knew it without even looking at him. But he forced himself to glance anyway. 

Devastation. Guilt. Frustration. Regret. Love. 

It was all there, plain as day. There was no way to deny it; not even all the anxiety in the world could make Virgil question what he saw in that expression. But Roman, being Roman, composed himself as best he could and went on monologuing.

"Do you even  _know_ what you mean to me? What you _are_ to me?" He shook his head emphatically as if answering his own question. "No, of course you don't know, because I never tell you! I've never told you how excited I get when I see you appear. How disappointed I feel when you _don't_ appear. Like there's a part of _me_ missing. Me!" he cried, gesturing to himself to illustrate the point. "I'm already a piece of someone else, and yet, without you... I'm just incomplete, Virgil. And I know it's like, your job to hurt or whatever, but I _hate_ it when you hurt. I hate it so much. And you want to know the worst part?" 

Virgil managed to ask, "What?"

"I can't do anything about it. There's no villain for me to vanquish here. There's no evil dragon witch making you do this to yourself-- it's just you. I don't understand it, but that's just what it is. And I feel like anything I try to do will just make it worse, because so far, I haven't been able to help you."

As he paused to take a breath, he was cut short by the sight of Virgil's face-- the very picture of bittersweet. There were tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks, a deep layer of pain breaking through his pale features as he shook his head over and over. But the strange thing was, he was smiling. His eyes glowed faintly with bewilderment as he absorbed everything Roman had said.

There was nothing to do now except hug him, really. So Roman did, embracing the anxious side as tightly as he dared. He was surprised to feel Virgil hugging him back with just as much force, if not more. 

"Hey Princey... thank you." Virgil spoke up at last, mumbling quietly. "I know I'm not the easiest to deal with. But, um... you're doing great."

Roman laughed softly. "You know you've got it backwards, right?  Whatever we 'deal' with, it means you're living with it all the time. You're the bravest person I know. _You're_ doing great. Virge. Just by existing."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, kind of a weird and abrupt ending, but this was where I wanted to leave it for now rather than forcing anything, you know what I mean?


End file.
